Page 10 of Deep In Love
“It’s late,” I say, unsure how to react, and throw a hand over my shoulder. “Time to go home.”
“It was great to meet you, Charlie,” Oliver says, before ensuring he has Amy’s number. They hug, and it lingers long enough that Mateo makes another face—his nose scrunched and tongue poking the inside of his cheek.
“See you later, bruja,” he purrs as we weave through the crowd toward the exit.
Amy links her arm with mine. “Sorry I left you alone with Mateo.”
The guilt in her voice is unmistakable, but as we walk back to our apartment, I admit something I’m not quite ready to accept. “I had fun. With Mateo, I mean. He’s still aggravating, but he made a good partner.”
She squeals, then throws her fist in the air.
“I fell in love, and you’re learning to tolerate Mateo. That’s a successful night.”
“How was talking with Oliver?”
I listen to Amy recount their conversations, how he’s a history buff and likes to run marathons. It’s not until we’re halfway home that it dawns on me. I spent the whole night without a single thought about people staring, and Mateo was likely the cause.
Chapter 3
Mateo
“It was only a matter of time before Elora fell for the charming pirate. Behind his hard exterior was a man desperate for someone to hold him close. She knew it in her heart.”
What Elora should be concerned about is sexually transmitted diseases and her vitamin D intake. And I don’t mean vitamin dick.
The historical romance drones on in my ear as I scrape soil from a tube and onto a weigh plate. Dump. Weigh. Put it in the dryer. Repeat.
I’ve been going through the motions for the last hour, completing each mundane protocol step while begrudgingly listening to Elora and her adventures with the rogue pirate who stole her away.
I’m seven chapters into the audiobook, and frankly, this feels like my abuela’s version of payback for the last book I chose in our little two-person audiobook club. I found the nonfiction about Earth’s history through fossils fascinating. She said it made her ears bleed.
Well, mine are suffering the same fate thanks to Elora’s poor decisions.
“‘Show me what the world is like,’ Elora said, stroking the pirate’s cheek, reveling in how his hardened skin grazed her innocent flesh.”
Innocent flesh? Is she serious?
If I wasn’t elbow deep in soil and wrapped up in a lab coat and gloves, I would change the audiobook to something far more stimulating, like the new one I bought about fungi communities.
Instead, I listen as Eloraexploresall the world can offer—on a boat in the middle of the sea in the 1800s, where she has no access to a shower, proper nutrition, or contraception. I doubt Elora and Dominic—the rogue pirate whostoleher—are having any conversation about consent, prior partners, or pregnancy prevention.
I scribble down a note in my lab notebook to call my abuela and tell her this is by far the worst thing I’ve ever listened to, and I’m adding “morally questionable historical romances” to our list of banned genres, right beside “boring nonfiction.”
We’ve listened to historical romance before, but those were outstanding, highlighting characters with complex backstories based on the era they were from. This book is a pile of trash, and my gut tells me she knows and it’s why she chose it.
I release an exasperated sigh when Elora comments that she’s experiencing new emotions around the pirate, but since I wasted twelve dollars on the audiobook, I’m going to listen to every second to get my money’s worth.
It’s impossible to hear anything over Elora’s oblivious internal dialogue.He doesn’t want to show you the world, he wants under your petticoat. Get it together, girl.
Her concerning choices make it easy for a pipette thief to enter the lab, sneak around, and steal the tool used to repeatedly measure small amounts of liquid. Unfortunately for her, her distinctive scent gives her away—cinnamon, clove, and something I can’t quite place. I catch her reflection in the glass cabinet above me as she tiptoes toward the far bench where the repeat pipettor resides.
It’s not the first time it’s been stolen, disappearing for a day, then magically reappearing before a department-wide memo could be sent out.
As she scoots closer, her head swings like she’s a meerkat wary of predators. I focus on my task like I’m unaware Charlie has slipped into the lab and is moments away from committing a scientific crime.
When her hand is inches from claiming her prize, I purr, “Hi, bruja.”
She squeaks, her shoulders bunching to her ears as she rips her hand away from the pipette rack to glower at me.
